I recited Tagore to you at bedtime.
Tales of flower buds and fishermen,
Boat crossings on an ocean of milk.
[You settle in your sleep.]
Your earrings rest near the humming lamp.
Shape of West Bengal, after division.
I intoned to you words and stories.
Filled your chest with combinations,
The spell-soft caress of dimness,
The breath inside your breath.
A physical geography of the Purānas
Details the landscape of your person.
[You the product of sages.]
O Gopi—cowherd of my sorrows,
Your maya is the veil. Play flute noises,
Confide to me in ciphers.